The Detective and the Thief
by SayuriTsukiko
Summary: Holmes and Irene met when they were kids, only Holmes hasn't quite worked out that it was Irene he met yet... Hilarity ensues. Please read and review, any criticism is welcome Rating changed to be safe.
1. A Childhood Memory

They came home one day to find the house broken into. It was amazing how the thief had managed to force their way in. Sherlock had secured all the windows and made them safe in a way that he believed no thief would be able to break.

Twelve year old Sherlock scratched his head and tried to work out how the thief had gained entry. His mother was shrieking loudly as hysteria gripped her; his father was trying to calm her down. He blocked it out. The window appeared not to have been forced at all. In fact it seemed to have been unlocked from the inside. But how?

The young boy's eyes scoured over the window. Searching….. Then he found it, a small hole, just big enough to slide a long piece of wire through. The wire, he guessed, would have been just thick enough to pick the lock, long enough to be able to reach the lock easily and strong and flexible enough for it to be twisted yet not broken.

He was about to open his mouth to inform his parents of his discovery, when a sudden panic gripped him. _What about his room? _The boy straightened up in alarm. He turned and ran up the stairs. Sherlock Holmes' room was filled with things that no ordinary twelve year old would fill his room with. He had already started some fact files on criminals, petty ones, pick pockets and so on. But there were his samples as well, they mustn't be touched.

He skidded to a halt in front of his bedroom door. He always left it closed. It was slightly ajar. The young detective took a deep breath. Then he heard a noise inside his room. He froze. _The thief was still there! IN HIS ROOM! _He began to panic, his heart pounded in his chest. He snuck back downstairs, his mother was still panicking. Very quietly, he extracted a strong walking stick from the fallen umbrella stand by the front door. He then snuck back to his room. His parents noticed nothing.

He reached his door again and listened hard. He could still hear movement inside. He reached out for his door and then very slowly, so that it wouldn't creak, he opened it. He slowly crept into the room, holding the walking stick like a bat, ready to hit the thief. But what he saw made his mouth fall open in surprise.

He had expected a fully grown man. But then he hadn't checked for foot prints around the window to see if his assumption was right. He mentally cursed himself for that.

Instead of a fully grown man, there was a girl. Sherlock couldn't help but notice that she was extremely pretty, with dark curly hair and blue eyes. She had turned when he came in, and was now looking at him with a faintly amused expression on her face.

"Are you going to hit me?" she asked. She had an American accent.

Sherlock tried to reply, but his voice seemed to be stuck in his throat. Then he noticed that there was a small grey bag by her feet. He glared at it. She followed his gaze to see what he was looking at. Then she smiled.

"Oh, I didn't take anything sentimental. Just jewels."

Sherlock found his voice at last.

"Sometimes jewels can be sentimental too. Family heirlooms, for example." He replied crossly.

She smiled again and shrugged. His grip on the walking stick tightened. His eyebrows had knitted together in a frown. A question was forming on his tongue. He had to ask it.

"Why did you mess up the house if you were only looking for jewels?" he asked.

"Why does it matter?"

"Because a lady generally keeps her jewels in her bedroom, you could have easily stolen them without making a mess."

She sighed. "I thought if I messed the house up I could make it look like a normal burglary."

"Yes, but those who you have stolen from would soon realise that nothing but their jewels were missing from their property. It seems a bit pointless really." He laughed.

"Then I shan't make the same mistake again, shall I?" She gave him a radiant smile. He blushed.

This annoyed him. _She's only a girl man! Pull yourself together!_ That may have been so. But the thing was, she was a girl after all, and she was in _his_ room. He didn't know how to deal with her. He felt awkward. She seemed to realise this.

She was still smiling at him. She turned to his samples. She was looking at them with interest. She moved to touch one of them, but Sherlock shot forward, dropping the walking stick to the floor, and seized hold of her wrist.

"You must not touch them! You'll contaminate them!" he snapped urgently.

"What are they?"

"Chemicals."

"Why do-"

"Because I like to test them. I want to make sure I know every chemical. I think it would be useful. Chemicals, it seems, can always be used to solve a crime." He gripped her wrist a little harder. She smiled again.

"I've got you now." He said calmly, "I'm going to call for my father and he shall get the police."

"I'm not sure I want to be caught by the police." She said tersely, her smile fading.

"You don't have much of a choice." He said triumphantly.

"I think I do."

"Really?" he replied incredulously. She grinned. There was suddenly a mischievous glint in her eye. It put him on edge. He tightened his grip yet again. Then he decided to laugh the veiled threat off.

"What are you going to do? Distract me? I see nothing here that could possibly distract me long enough to let-" Sherlock was suddenly interrupted, because she had leant forward and planted a kiss on his lips.

It lasted for only a second perhaps. But to him it seemed longer. Without realising it, he had let go of her wrist. She drew back with a grin. Then she turned around, opened his window and climbed out, using the ivy outside the window to go down.

The young boy did not attempt to stop her. He was in shock. The girl had stolen his first kiss! '_Not that he cared about things like that!'_, he thought furiously.

**

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****Note: I've taken off the bit that was on the end, because I didn't like it and I'm probably going to write another chapter...so, yeah.**


	2. Messy Rooms and the British Museum

****

Oh look! An update! Hahaha! I'm telling you now, I had so much fun writing this on the train.

**I wrote this because one or two people said I should write another chapter to this story. So I decided that I would and that it would be set when they are older. :) Aren't I nice? I also only intended it to be a two chapter story if I did write another chapter, but now it seems it will probably be a three chapter story. :) Oh well, that'll make it more fun.**

**Oh, and Watson is in this one too. Wheeee!**

* * *

Holmes woke with a start. He'd had _that_ dream again. The first time he'd been outsmarted. Not that Watson knew of course. As far as Watson was concerned, the only person who had ever outsmarted him was Irene Adler. Holmes wasn't about to let him know that there was somebody else before her…He would laugh at him.

Grumbling to himself, the detective pulled himself out of his chair, very nearly tripping over one of the glass bottles left scattered on the floor from the night before. He kicked them out of the way and made his way towards his desk. He began to rummage around, looking for the letters he had yet to go through. His eyes suddenly fell on Irene's photograph.

"What are you looking at?" he growled, before slamming it face down on the desk.

There were several reasons why seeing her photograph had suddenly annoyed him. Firstly, whenever he saw it, or indeed her for that matter, all these feelings bubbled up inside him that he didn't understand and this irritated him. Secondly, whenever he thought about her, his concentration was shot to pieces and thirdly, he'd had the dream about the girl in his room when he was twelve. Irene reminded him of that girl sometimes and this _really_ irritated him.

There was a sudden knock on the door.

"Come in Watson." said Holmes with a sigh.

The door opened and Watson walked in. He didn't even bother asking how Holmes knew it was him. He was so used to the detective's skills of deduction that he didn't really see the point. He had probably recognised his footsteps as he had walked up the stairs…or something like that anyway.

"Holmes," Watson said, wrinkling his nose in disgust, "when was the last time you cleaned in here?"

"About two months ago." Holmes promptly replied.

"For God sake's Holmes!"

"I'm not cleaning it Watson! I know where everything is. Anyway, how are you and Mary?"

"I'm fine, but Mary has a terrible cold."

The detective snorted. "Stay away from me then, I certainly don't want it."

"You'll catch a lot worse in here old boy." Watson replied with a smirk, as he looked around his dusty surroundings.

"Yes…well…" muttered Holmes.

They sat down in their armchairs and waited for Mrs Hudson to bring some tea. After this was done, and after Holmes had exchanged a few sniping remarks with the long suffering landlady, the detective asked his friend a question.

"Why are you here anyway? I thought you were too busy being _married._"

Watson rolled his eyes. "I'm here because I saw someone yesterday and I thought I should tell you."

Holmes suddenly looked scandalised. "Good lord Watson! You're not having an affair already are you? How despicable!"

Watson was, needless to say, outraged. "_Holmes! _That is not funny! You know I would never-"

"I know old boy. I was only joking." laughed Holmes.

"You are completely depraved Holmes!"

"I know. I'm sorry." The detective smirked.

"No you're not! You're smirking!"

Holmes started to laugh again. Annoyed, the doctor stood to leave.

"I should get back to Mary." he snapped.

Holmes stopped laughing immediately. "But you said you had something to tell me!"

"Yes, you're right. I did. But I don't think I will now." Watson snapped again. He began to make his way towards the door. Stopping once to stroke Gladstone on the head.

"But Watson! If it's important you should tell me! It might have something to do with Moriarty." Holmes pleaded.

Watson turned around to look at his friend. He was giving him the 'puppy dog eyes' look. Watson sighed.

"I highly doubt it old friend. She's not stupid is she?" he said with a shrug.

"Who's not stupid?" asked Holmes. He was frowning.

"Miss Adler, I saw her yesterday. I went to the British Museum at lunch while I had no patients to tend to and she was there."

Holmes blinked. "What on earth was she doing in the British Museum?"

"Apparently she likes museums. She wasn't looking for anything to steal Holmes, if that's what you're thinking." chuckled Watson.

"Oh?" replied Holmes. He was trying to act as though he didn't care that Watson knew something about Irene that _he _didn't. He was failing miserably.

"How do _you_ know that anyway." he asked, unable to keep a rather bitter tone out of his voice.

Watson laughed at him. "Because she told _me_ to tell you that."

"And you believed her? Watson! I'm surprised at you; I thought you knew better than to trust thieves?" Holmes was mocking him now. Watson didn't like it.

"I could say the same thing to you. I say, was it cold in the Grande when you were without your clothes?" Watson had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing as Holmes turned a violent shade of red.

"She told you about that…You know n-nothing happened old boy!" Holmes laughed nervously.

"I know, _she told me._ She said it was just a practical joke. Isn't that three points to her now old boy? Over your, what is it? _No_ points in terms of your ongoing battle of wits?" Watson couldn't stop himself from laughing now.

Holmes quickly changed the subject. "What else did she say to you old boy?" he asked.

"Oh, not much really. Only that she thought Ancient Egyptian mummies were disgusting and that she was probably going to pop in for a visit so she could make fun of you." Watson replied casually.

"Wait, what?"

"Now I _really _must go old boy. I meant it when I said I should get back to Mary." laughed Watson.

Holmes was in quite a state now. "When did she say she would be coming?"

"She didn't. Goodbye Holmes. Oh and when she finally does turn up, give her my best will you?" Watson was laughing harder than ever now. Holmes could hear his laughter as he walked downstairs and out of the front door.

And so, Sherlock Holmes was left, standing alone in his rooms in a state of complete shock.

**

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****Lol! Irene is going to make fun of Holmes! **

**I've always imagined that Watson and Irene would actually get on rather well, united by their love of making fun of Holmes. :D Because its fun to make fun of the world's greatest detective, and no one does it better than Watson and Irene. Hahaha.**


	3. A Confession

**Oh my god, I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to update on this! It's just that University work has been getting in the way, so I haven't been able to write anything but History essays. No literally, I've finished one essay only to find that I have to start another immediately, even during the Holidays! TT_TT I haven't really updated on anything for ages, but don't worry I have four months of no University, so hopefully I can write things like this to my heart's content. **

**Anyway, this is quite a long chapter I guess (word wise anyway, it's more than the previous chapters). Originally it was supposed to be very humorous like the previous chapters, but as I was writing it, it got a little bit more serious… But that just shows I can do serious writing too I guess so I'm pleased. :D I quite like this chapter; so far it's been my favourite to write. :) Let me know what you guys think though.**

* * *

Since Watson's departure, Sherlock Holmes had been on edge. If he went out, he was constantly looking over his shoulder, waiting for a glimpse of a silk dress whipping out of sight or a whiff of Irene's infamous Parisian perfume. He tried to avoid going out though, locking himself in his room to pluck at his Stradivarius and smoking his pipe far too much (in 'Nanny's' opinion). In part Holmes told himself that he was hiding from Irene, to avoid getting into one of her 'adventures' or being outsmarted by her _yet again._ But really it was because he was waiting for her. If he had wanted to avoid her he could have stayed out on the streets of London or found a case to solve in some obscure part of the country where she probably wouldn't be able to find him…_Probably._

It had been two weeks since Watson's visit and there had still been no sign of Irene. She probably wasn't going to come, Holmes decided. Yes that was it, that whole conversation she had with Watson at the museum, a conversation she _knew _would get back to him, was just part of one of her 'games'. She'd never meant to come round; she had just wanted him to _think _that she was going to, just to piss him off. Yes that was _exactly like her. _Well, he wasn't going to let her do that. No he wasn't. He was going to go out and get some of his favourite fish and chips.

Holmes stood up, put on his jacket and reached for his hat, humming the _Habanera _the entire time. Then he opened the door to his rooms to leave…

Just as Irene Adler herself was about to knock on it. Irene looked up and grinned at him.

"Going somewhere Sherlock?"

"I-I was just-" Holmes couldn't get his words out though and tried to point around her and downstairs to make his point, with an exasperated look on his face.

Her smile merely widened and she pushed her way past him. "Well I'm sure you wouldn't mind sparing me a few moments?"

Holmes turned and watched, mouth wide open as The Woman made herself at home in _his_ room, settling down in _his _armchair. She looked around the room with disapproval.

"Good Lord, it's a pigsty in here, when was the last time you cleaned?" she asked, turning around slightly in the armchair to face him. She automatically raised an eyebrow at him.

"If you stand there gaping at me like that all day you're going to start catching flies Sherlock."

"I didn't think you were coming," he blurted.

Irene laughed at him. "I've been busy since I spoke to the Doctor. Were you expecting me to come and visit straight away darling?" She batted her eyelashes at him and tried to look as innocent as she possibly could; despite the fact she still had a wicked smile etched on her lips.

"You did it on purpose," he growled.

"Did what?" she replied bluntly.

"You came two weeks later than you said you would deliberately."

"I _never _said _when_ I was going to visit you; I only said that I _was_ going to."

Holmes suddenly snapped at her, "You waited this long deliberately so I would let my guard down Woman! Don't you dare deny it!" Holmes began to walk towards her, a look of rage etched upon his features. "This is just one of your bloody games again!"

Holmes now stood in front of her, hands placed on the arms of the chair. He was actually frightening Irene a little bit; she had sunk down into the armchair slightly and was leaning away from him. She hadn't realised that she was going to annoy him this much, it had only been a joke and she'd only meant to not visit for a week. During the second week she genuinely been busy, things had come up.

Irene took a deep breath. "I'm sorry Sherlock, truly I am. The first week I was doing it on purpose, but the second…I swear I really was very busy and I really did want to come and see you, I swear!"

Holmes frowned, taking his hands away from the armchair so that he could cross his arms. "You…never apologise."

Irene shrugged. "That's because I'm usually not sorry." Holmes pulled a face at her and she quickly added, "But I am this time…well, except for the first week," she giggled and he scowled. "Besides, _you_ never apologise either Sherlock."

Holmes sniffed and plonked himself down into Watson's armchair beside her. "Why didn't Nanny announce your presence to me?" he asked.

"_Mrs Hudson, _is out. So I let myself in," replied Irene, she grinned at him again and sat up in her seat.

"Of course you did," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "What did you want anyway?"

"Do I have to have a reason to visit you?"

"You always have a reason."

She shifted in her seat slightly. She was nervous.

"Is it Moriarty?" A look of concern appeared on his face.

"No…"

"What then?" he asked her, frowning even harder now.

"I…came to return something…" Irene glanced over at him for a second. She really did look worried; perhaps she thought he might lose his temper again.

"Return what? Did you take something the last time you were here?"

"No…"

"So it was one of our encounters prior to that?"

Irene rolled her eyes. "Obviously. Stop pretending that you don't know," she said crossly.

"Irene, I really don't have a clue what you are talking about."

Her eyes widened in surprise, he really didn't know did he? "Are you really that dense when it comes to me?"

"Excuse me? Who told you I was dense when it came to you?"

"Watson did, but that's not the point."

"I'm going to _kill_ him," Holmes growled.

"Sherlock-"

"_Dense_. I'm not bloody _dense."_

"Will you listen to me Sherlock!" Irene cried. "This is important, it's taken me long enough to work up the courage to return it and the fact that you haven't worked it out for yourself already, which is ridiculous by the way and I'm seriously questioning your skills as a detective now,-" Holmes opened his mouth as if to interrupt her, but Irene held up a finger to shush him, "is going to make this harder for me, so I need you to sit there and shut up so I can explain."

Irene took a deep breath and began. "Do you remember when you were twelve years old; that a little girl broke into your house and stole all of the jewels out of your mother's jewellery box and she said to you that she 'hadn't taken anything sentimental. Just jewels' and you said that-"

"Jewels could be sentimental," breathed Holmes.

How could he have been so stupid! Watson was right, he _was _dense about Irene. He had even associated Irene with the girl because she reminded him of her, so how the hell had he not bloody worked it out for himself that that little girl and Irene were one and the same? How many beautiful American women did he know who had a habit of taking things that weren't theirs? ONE, BLOODY,ONE!

While this inner self-questioning turmoil went on in Sherlock Holmes' head, Irene had taken something out of her pocket. It was a ring. A very old, but well looked after ring.

"I didn't sell it like the other jewels," she said nervously, "I liked it too much and what you said kind of got to me, you know, about sentimentality and thought it might have been an engagement ring so I kept it…as a memento, I guess." She placed the ring on the arm of his chair.

Holmes looked at it. It was his Grandmother's engagement ring; his mother had been distraught when she had discovered it was missing. She had been keeping it so that if Mycroft or Sherlock ever found a 'special someone' they wanted to be with, they could give it to her…as if _that_ was ever going to happen. But his mother had still been upset and the memory of it began to anger Holmes again.

He looked up at Irene for a brief moment and then looked back down at the ring again. He slowly raised his right arm to point at the room's door.

"Get out, _now,_" he hissed.

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**Ooooooh Cliffhanger. :D God I'm being mean.**


	4. Locked Doors and Childish Behaviour

"Sherlock, please open the door," pleaded Irene. It had been over an hour since Sherlock Holmes and thrown her out of his room and she had spent the entire time sitting in front of the door begging him to let her back inside. So far she hadn't even got so much as a reply from him.

"Sherlock, _please._ I'm really sorry. Let me come back in. I promise I'll make it up to you."

Nothing but silence was Irene's reply. Irene Adler sighed…and then a horrifying thought came to her.

"Oh my god Sherlock you're not drugging yourself up to the eyeballs again are you?" Irene stood up and began to bang on the detective's door to try and get his attention. One of the things that frightened Irene the most was that Holmes would die, be it by Moriarty's hand or his own through the drugs he was addicted to. Not that Irene was willing to admit this out loud of course…

"No I'm bloody not Woman!" Holmes suddenly shouted, causing Irene to jump and her fears to disappear as soon as they had appeared, "But if you keep bloody nagging me and banging on my door instead of leaving I might have to bloody start taking them to drown you out!"

Irene sighed and slid down the door and onto the floor again. "I'm not leaving Sherlock," she said stubbornly.

"And _I _am not going to open that door."

"Then we have a problem don't we?" Irene snapped.

"The problem could be easily resolved if you just left" Holmes said bluntly.

"Not going to happen. I'm not leaving things like this; it wouldn't be healthy for our…well whatever it is that we have between us."

"There is nothing going on between us," Holmes growled, "and you usually don't mind about leaving things in a bad way when you leave. You just…you just go."

An awkward silence suddenly set in, which is quite a feat when the conversation you are having is with a person who is sat on the other side of a door.

Irene closed her eyes and sighed again, she knew what he was talking about; she did have a habit of leaving things bad between them. But that was generally because she was trying to piss him off…and because she was a little afraid that her feelings for Holmes would end up getting her hurt.

During this time, Irene was unaware that the front door had opened and that the visitor who had opened it had made their way upstairs. So when she opened her eyes to see Doctor Watson peering at her with a concerned look on his face she was mildly surprised.

"Irene? Are you all right?" he asked, offering her a hand to help her up.

"Hey Doc…" Irene took his hand but didn't look at Watson directly, a little annoyed that he had seen her being so…well, vulnerable.

"I take it," said Watson said carefully, nodding his head towards Holmes' door, "that he didn't take what you had to say very well."

"What do you mean I didn't take it well!" Holmes suddenly shouted. Unbeknownst to Watson and Irene, Holmes had had his ear pressed against the door ever since he had deduced that it was Watson coming up the stairs, because unlike Irene, he _had_ heard the door open.

"Oh dear," said Watson, casting a worried look in Irene's direction.

"Watson! Did you know what she was coming here to tell me? You bloody did, didn't you?"

"She told me at the museum Holmes, she asked for my advice."

"Yes but _you_ could have told me when you came to tell me she was going to visit."

"It wasn't my place to tell you Holmes!" cried an exasperated Watson. "Will you open the door now please!"

"No."

"You do realise how incredibly childish you're being don't you?" Watson asked.

There was no reply to that.

Irene sighed again and plucked Watson's coat to get his attention. "I think I'm going to leave now," she mumbled.

"What about-" Watson began, pointing to Holmes' door. Irene smiled and shook her head.

"I've got a headache and I'm hungry, I'm going to go back to my hotel," she said with a shrug. Then she added, raising her voice a little so that Holmes could hear, "I'll be back tomorrow _darling._"

"I won't be here!" Holmes shouted.

"Then I'll wait!" Irene shouted back in a slight sing-song voice as she made her way downstairs.

Holmes waited until Irene had left and closed the front door before he unlocked and opened the door to his room. He was greeted, when he did, by a very unhappy Watson, who was glaring at him, one eyebrow raised in irritation.

"You should have told me," Holmes blurted immediately.

"Like I said before old boy, not my place," Watson replied, stepping into the room and making his way over to the armchairs, "anyway, shouldn't you be pleased that she feels guilty about stealing those things when you were younger? She obviously cares about you a lot, although for the life of me I can't understand why," he added with a laugh.

Holmes sat down and glared at him.

"Why didn't you tell me that you'd had a run in with Miss Adler when you were a youngster Holmes?" asked Watson, ignoring the glare.

"I…I didn't," began the detective awkwardly.

"You didn't realise it was her did you?"

"No."

"See, dense around Irene, as always."

Holmes scowled at him and Watson laughed.

"I don't understand why you're that angry Holmes, she's apologised hasn't she? That's a slight change in character if you ask me, you should-"

"SHE STOLE MY FIRST KISS!" bellowed Holmes suddenly. Then he froze. "I shouted that out loud instead of inside my head didn't I?" he asked.

"Yup," replied Watson, who was now leaning back with a huge grin on his face. "Now tell me old boy, are you more annoyed at Irene because she stole your mother's jewels, or is it because she kissed you?"


	5. Don't Push It

**First of all, I'm sorry about the delay, I wanted to finish this before I went on holiday, but only found time to write the first part of it. Sorry. **

**Secondly, this is the last chapter. :S**

**Thirdly, I'm really worried about this chapter.**

**And lastly, someone (an anon reviewer) asked why Irene simply didn't pick the lock to Holmes' room in the last chapter. The answer is that she's trying to gain his trust and picking the lock to his room wouldn't be the best way to do it. :)**

**Also thanks to those who have been reviewing this since I started it. You know who you are. x**

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Holmes stared at Watson for a moment, his mouth slightly agape. "I…it's…_Obviously _it's because of my mother's jewels," he stammered finally.

"Really," Watson replied with a roll of his eyes. "Because a minute ago, it sounded like it was because she kissed you."

"It isn't."

"Don't lie old boy, I know you better than anyone and I've known Miss Adler as long as you have, been around every time she's outsmarted you or been involved in one of our cases. I _know_ how you feel about her Holmes."

Watson's eyes bored into Holmes with this announcement and the detective felt himself begin to panic. He hated confronting his feelings about anything. Emotion was merely a distraction from his work; he didn't need such a distraction. Watson was attempting to make him confront the way he felt about Irene when he had been trying to ignore it for so long. He didn't like it.

_Time to change the subject._

"I thought you said that I didn't feel anything 'akin to love' for her when you wrote about the case with her photograph?" Holmes automatically cursed himself in his head. _That was not changing the bloody subject._

"I did, I lied. I thought it best to keep the fact that you had fallen head-over-heels for her a secret. Just in case someone tried to use it against you…or hurt her to get to you…" said Watson, in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

"I _have not_ fallen head-over-heels for her," Holmes growled.

Watson replied with a gesture in the direction of Holmes' desk and a single word, "Photograph."

"Not relevant," said Holmes dismissively, "I keep that photograph as a memento, to remind myself of Miss Adler's masterful intelligence."

"Of course!" Watson replied, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Because a photograph conveys a person's intelligence! How silly of me to forget!"

"Watson."

"Yes, just by looking at it _right now_ I can clearly see how intelligent Irene is."

"_Watson."_

"And it's got nothing to do with the fact that you are _very _attracted to her and _very in love_ with her."

"I am n-" Holmes didn't finish his sentence though, it was as if he couldn't deny the fact that he was in love with Irene out loud. So he scowled instead.

"You can't say that you're not can you?" Watson asked with a laugh. Holmes glared at him.

"You need to go see her," said Watson.

"I bloody don't."

"She's coming tomorrow anyway," Watson pointed out, "And you need to talk to her."

"I'm going to Scotland tomorrow," snapped Holmes.

"Don't lie, you hate Scotland, you say it's too bloody cold up there."

"So it is Watson, which means _she's _less likely to follow me up there."

The doctor sighed and stood up out of his seat suddenly. "If you're going to be difficult Holmes, I'm going to leave."

And with that Watson was gone, leaving Holmes alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Irene Adler had not been lying when she had told Watson that she had a headache. She often found that she got headaches when Holmes was being difficult and refusing to discuss things of a personal matter with her, mostly because it frustrated her to no end.

On returning to her room at The Grand, Irene ordered some food, (she hadn't been lying when she'd said she was hungry either) and took some painkillers before lying on her bed with a wet towel across her forehead. Her thoughts were plagued with Holmes and exactly what she was going to say to him tomorrow.

After she had eaten, she tried to distract herself by reading a book, but found she couldn't concentrate on it. She finally gave up when she realised that she had actually forgotten what she was reading, (it was some obscure gothic horror novel), and decided to try and sleep instead.

She had just finished dressing for bed when she heard a familiar scratching and scraping noise along the metal of the locking mechanism of the room's door. Irene rolled her eyes as she walked to the door and opened it, revealing Sherlock Holmes trying and failing to pick the lock to the room.

"Why don't you just knock? You know, I think I might send you hair pins for Christmas, you seem to have more success with those than you do that lock pick," Irene said sharply.

Holmes stood up with an awkward cough, trying to avert his eyes from her because he was very aware of the fact that she was wearing her nightclothes.

"Yes…well it is a rather difficult lock…"

"What do you want Sherlock?" she snapped. Irene was a little bit pissed off about earlier, she didn't like being ignored.

"I want to come in so we can talk…" Holmes mumbled.

If Irene was surprised she didn't show it. Instead she continued to glare at him, arms folded across her chest, her bare foot tapping impatiently on the floor.

"It is inappropriate to visit a woman at this hour Mr Holmes."

"As if you actually care," Holmes replied, with a hint of amusement in his voice and his wide smile that made his eyes crease slightly.

Irene's gaze softened slightly.

"Fine, but an hour's all I'll give you," she said indifferently.

The detective walked into the room and sat down on the chaise longue. Irene sat down next to him and stared at him hard. Holmes did nothing but shift awkwardly.

Irene sighed and rolled her eyes again. "I meant it when I said sorry Sherlock."

"Did you?" he asked, staring at her as equally hard as she had been staring at him.

"Yes!" snapped Irene.

There was an awkward silence again. Then Holmes shifted and asked, "Why were you in London?"

"My mother was visiting a friend; I broke into your house because I was bored."

"Right…When did you realise it was me?"

"When I first got a proper look at you outside Baker Street during the whole thing with the King of Bohemia," she replied with a careless wave of her hand.

"_What! _Why didn't you tell me?" Holmes shouted. Irene shushed him.

"There are people trying to sleep Sherlock! Of course I didn't tell you _then_, I didn't know you did I?"

"You could have said afterwards."

"I was scared," Irene said simply, "I knew how you would react and I didn't want to ruin whatever there is between us…whether it's a friendship or something more. I like you far too much Sherlock Holmes."

She smiled at him. God he loved her smile.

"I…er…I like you far too much too…" he mumbled back.

Irene's smile widened and she leant forward suddenly and kissed him. Their tongues automatically tangled and they held each other tightly in each other's arms. Holmes gave her a little squeeze and pulled back to murmur between kisses, "You know we can't trust each other yet don't you?"

"That's ok," Irene replied a little breathlessly, "we can work on that."

Irene pushed him down so he was lying on the chaise longue and moved to sit on top of him before leaning forward to kiss his neck. She suddenly moved her lips to his ear and teased, "And who knows, maybe I'll get that engagement ring back one day."

"Don't push it," Holmes replied back and not without a hint of amusement, before moving his lips to capture hers again.

Sherlock Holmes _definitely _stayed longer than an hour that night.

* * *

**So…what do you think? Apart from the bit where I have them kiss in my story about Gladstone, this is the first time I've written something like this…I wanted to have them be a little awkward about it and not actually tell each other **_**exactly**_** how they feel, but still have both of them get it anyway (they are geniuses after all and neither of them do emotions very well do they?)**

**Anyway, I will be writing another story about Irene (once I've tied up another of my stories), but it's obviously not going to be connected to this one (seeing as this was supposed to be a one shot lol), it'll also feature an OC of mine who I promise will not be a Mary-sue. :)**


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